


Charcoal

by nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive
Summary: Written pre 2005. Posting for archival purposes.So little of her life holds meaning.
Relationships: Jack Malone/Samantha Spade, Martin Fitzgerald/Danny Taylor, Martin Fitzgerald/Samantha Spade
Kudos: 1





	Charcoal

Even now, years later, she can still recall the first time she witnessed a case end in tragedy.

She was a rookie then, three months with the Bureau, their missing girl a mere child, still weeks away from her sixth birthday, and, after forty-three hours, they found the girl hidden beneath a grove of trees in a small stretch of forest just outside of Fairview New Jersey. Her eyes were open, her gaze locked on the sky above her. Her skin was tinged in shades of blue, evidence of their failure.

She bought a black suit the next morning. Wore it, three days later, to the girl's funeral. After, the suit hid in the back of her closet for six months before making its way into her regular rotation.

Once again it's hanging in the back of her closet, the buttons missing and she still remembers the way that she gasped when Jack tore them off in his haste to undress her. She hasn't had it repaired.

Now, though, she wishes she had, because the rest of her wardrobe has colour, nothing somber enough to mark the occasion. Sam's not quite certain when she stopped mourning the lives of those they lost.

Jack once told that her stopping was necessary, needed even to maintain what little sanity the job allowed. Sam's not so sure. She thinks, idly, that mourning is what kept her sane. Made her human. Now, she only feels hollow.

It's been four years since she last attended a funeral.

~*~

In the end, she decided on grey, her suit the exact shade of the overcast sky and it seems fitting, somehow, that the day should bring rain.

She's early, her hands shaking nervously as she parks the car, her body tense as she glances out the passenger-side window, hoping that she won't have to head inside.

He appears a second later, almost in answer to her thought, like he was waiting for her, and Sam sends up silent thanks before reaching across the car to unlock the passenger-side door.

His suit is a dark shade of charcoal that makes her feel slightly better about her choice. She was expecting black. Her suit is lighter, though, but the colours compliment each other and she wonders, briefly, what that might mean. Too little of her life, lately, has held meaning.

He doesn't say anything as he climbs into the car, merely glancing in her direction, his expression unreadable, and, before she can say anything, he glances away, reaching for his seat-belt, fastening it before folding his hands across his lap and focusing his gaze out the front windshield.

She doesn't comment, instead starting the car, absently noting that her hands are no longer shaking.

~*~

This isn't her place, she realizes as she pulls to a stop next to a pair of looming, cast-iron gates.

He hasn't spoken on the drive over, and Sam can no longer remember why he asked her to come. Why she agreed. She's tempted to ask, but she's loathe to break the silence, terrified to fill the space between them with words. Instead she pulls the key out of the ignition, the dull mechanic roar of the engine instantly replaced by the metallic pitter-patter of rain hitting the steel above their heads.

The rain seems to grow heavier with each breath she takes, the sound of it an interesting accompaniment to the awkward silence that permeates the car. Releasing a breath, she reaches into the backseat to pull out an umbrella before stepping outside.

Martin joins her a second later, not seeming to notice the rain. She thinks briefly of offering to share her umbrella, but he hasn't asked, and she can't find the words to offer. Instead she starts up the path that leads into the cemetery, the gates seeming almost carnivorous now, like they long to devour all who pass beneath them. Shivering, Sam quickens her pace, not glancing back to see if Martin's following.

~*~

She recognizes a few of the faces seated on the cluster of wet, folding chairs that circle the plot. Martin's cousins, and uncle, and the few friends she met while helping Martin search for Bonnie. She hasn't met Martin's mother, so she doesn't know if she's among the faces sitting in the rain. His father is absent, though she's not entirely certain what connection he might have to the family currently huddled together beneath an umbrella not unlike her own.

Martin doesn't offer up an explanation, but then again, she hasn't requested one.

Nor does he speak, remaining as silent as he's been all day and she can't read him well enough to know what it means. His expression is weary, lines that she's never noticed before dragging at his skin until she can almost convince herself that the rain streaking down his face are tears. She's seen him cry before, though, once, so she knows that his eyes are dry.

The service is simple, short and to the point and Martin remains motionless beside her throughout it. Stoic is the word that comes to mind, detached in a way he wasn't while Bonnie was alive and Sam's not sure what to make of that. The service ends with Martin standing, Sam remaining seated while he joins the line of family members waiting to place flowers across the top of Bonnie's casket. A single white rose, placed there by Bonnie's only granddaughter, stands out in stark contrast amongst a sea of reds and pinks.

Sam thinks briefly of crying, wondering if perhaps her tears might count for both of them. Across the damp ground, Martin's features remain emotionless.

~*~

Pulling to a stop next to his apartment, Sam hesitates briefly and wonders if she should shut the car off and follow him inside. He makes the decision for her, reaching for the door's handle and, for a moment, she thinks he might leave as silently as he came. She's used to the silence, though, so it startles her when Martin clears his throat before glancing over to catch her eye, his expression more vacant than she can ever remember seeing.

Sam offers what she hopes is an encouraging smile, but Martin doesn't seem to notice.

"Thank you, for coming," he tells her, his words void of emotion. He is as hollow as she is, Sam realizes, the thought depressing and she's forced to swallow before responding.

"Anytime," she says, not entirely certain whether she means it.

Martin accepts the answer with a nod, and then he's leaving, Sam watching him go, waiting just until he disappears behind a heavy wooden door before pulling back out into traffic.

She doesn't go home.

Instead she finds herself driving aimlessly, not quite sure where she's going, not entirely certain it matters.

An hour later she finds herself pulling into the parking lot of a small diner in Brooklyn. She's been here before, once. There's a hotel two blocks over where the carpet is stained and sheets smell like bleach. That wasn't the night she lost her buttons.

She thinks they might be dating, but she's not really certain. They've had dinner, several times, and drinks, several more. She can't quite pinpoint when it happened, when they shifted from casual friends and co-workers to something more. She wasn't expecting it, anyway, and now that she has it, she's not entirely certain that she wants it.

Her affair with Jack began at the end of a case, the team celebrating the end of four days and the discovery of a teenage boy, alive and well. She was drunk the first time she kissed Jack. She's fairly certain he can say the same.

The details are fuzzy, faded with time and the inevitable hangover that came the next morning. But she remembers the passion, remembers the want and the need and the burning desire for more. With Martin, she merely feels resigned. Obligated and desperate and so achingly lonely that, sometimes, she thinks she might be able to sleep with him without picturing Jack's face. Sitting in her car outside the diner in Brooklyn that Jack brought her to the first time they were sober, Sam's not entirely certain that's possible.

~*~

Monday morning dawns bright and sunny and she doesn't remember Sunday.

She thinks she might have done laundry, and there's milk in her fridge that she doesn't remember purchasing. Trivial things that hold no real importance, so she ignores the milk, and the freshly folded towels sitting on her kitchen table, before heading in search of a shower.

By the time she makes it into work, she's almost convinced herself that the past two days were nothing more than a dream.

The light in the office isn't quite right, though, brighter than she remembers it being, and that she attributes to too bright a sun after so many days of rain.

The halls outside their office are strangely empty, barren in a way she can never remember them being and Sam checks her watch, noting the early hour, no longer really remember why she decided to skip breakfast.

She's not the first one in, though, the light in Jack's office a clear indication of his presence and she's tempted to seek him out. She doesn't, not really certain what it will accomplish. What she wants it to accomplish.

Instead she pushes her way past the heavy glass doors that separate the Missing Person's offices from the rest of the floor, the tall windows lining the far side of the room making the brightness seem even more apparent. Martin's presence is a surprise.

He's sitting at his desk, completely absorbed in whatever it is he is doing. He doesn't glance up, her presence going unnoticed. Sam pauses just inside the door before realizing that she's not the only one watching him.

Not the only one questioning why he didn't take bereavement leave.

Danny seems to hover, just outside of Martin's peripheral vision, so she doubts that Martin's noticed him. Martin seems just as lost as he did when she dropped him off, just as distracted as he has since he first learned of Bonnie's death.

Danny seems to sense that, his hesitation obvious, like he's not quite sure what to say or what to do and Sam's not surprised that he knows.

Or that he's worried. She's known Danny too long not to divine the meaning behind his nervous apprehension.

It makes her feel even more of a fraud than she usually does, because she knows Martin's interested, and she knows that she'll accept that interest, run with it, because it's been too long since someone last wanted her.

Except, watching Martin now, she's not entirely certain that's true. Not entirely certain that she wants it to be.

Martin's noticed Danny now, his features shifting, becoming softer, filled with an open vulnerability that he's never once shared with her. Watching him stand, taking in the apparent relief that's written across his features, she realizes then that she is nothing more than a placeholder.

Realizes too that she can say the same for him, Sam acutely aware of the sound of Jack's office door opening and closing, the sound of Jack's footsteps seeming entirely too loud in otherwise stillness of the morning.

A case, she knows, because she knows Jack well enough to recognize the urgency in his pace. Across the room, Danny is speaking in hushed tones, Martin nodding, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and she doubts she could have coaxed the same.

"He okay?" Jack asks, startling her, and despite the fact that she knew he was coming, his presence behind her is still unexpected.

Glancing over her shoulder, she can't help but follow Jack's gaze, her eyes landing on Martin and it should surprise her that Jack knows, but it doesn't.

"I don't know," she answers, and she is surprised by the truth of her words.

Jack doesn't comment, instead nodding, glancing back over and Sam's breath catches in the back of her throat, Jack's expression searching, like he's aware of everything she's hiding and Sam can't quite bring herself to maintain his gaze for long.

She glances away, cheeks flushing scarlet, though in embarrassment or guilt, she doesn't know. When she glances up again, Jack is gone, already heading toward the white board and the start of the case. Sam releases a breath and heads to her desk, ignoring Jack's dismissal, and the bitter resentment she sees reflected in Danny's eyes when he glances in her direction.

Martin doesn't acknowledge her presence.

Sam finds that she doesn't really mind.


End file.
